We Made History

Following the success of last week's post OutWest contacted me wondering if I would be interested in writing a guest author piece for them discussing how I was before the vote and how I feel now that it has passed. OutWest is a voluntary social and support group for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people in the West of Ireland, they do extraordinary work so obviously I was delighted to help out. Plus I'm one always happy to give my two cents on anything, you should all know that by now. Below is the said article.   


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Life is a journey filled with lessons, hardships, heartaches, celebrations and special moments that will ultimately lead us to our destination and purpose. Over the past few months with the marriage referendum approaching I went through my own personal journey. An emotional roller coaster that I plan to share briefly today. This is being done to allow people really grasp how grateful and appreciative I am of the end result and the support witnessed in passing Amendment 34.

Back when polling day felt almost like a different era light-years away, I was quite angry and annoyed with the whole situation. Resentful, I didn't want to acknowledge what our nation was set to face. I understood because of the design of the Irish constitution a referendum was needed (I'm aware of how constitutional change works, for the record I know we're not run by a backwards state and it's great that the people have so much power and control) but I still found it humiliating. We were putting the concept of equal recognition to public vote, whether two people who love each other could marry was up for argument.

( Photo via Cnbc.com )
Throughout the 'debate' we heard a lot about maintaining 'balance'. National broadcasters couldn't show bias, viewpoints had to be expressed equally and upholding neutrality was essential. I took issue with this, mainly because I felt providing exposure to a side that disfavoured the notion of an entire minority of people receiving the same support, kindness and respect as others a bitter pill to swallow. Young LGBT youths are already overly conscious of disapproval, so to see this sort of negative behaviour being tolerated and endorsed on television, on signposts, on streets, through letterboxes was in my opinion causing so much unneeded anxiousness, further confusion and despair.  

I had built up this wall of resentment towards this referendum, a guard that I eventually let down.

( Photo via Change.org )
Guilt then stumbled onto the scene. Was I doing enough? Could I in any way be more productive? Seeing canvassers out advocating on doorsteps, being exposed to abuse yet still upholding nobility and persevering. Having people and businesses vocalising their passion and enthusiasm for equality on social media. The amount of Yes campaigners who sacrificed their privacy to tell people what it meant to them. The bulk of voters who flew home from all over the world to play their part. It became easy for me to doubt my place.

In the end I became overpowered with pride and honour. There's the old saying, you can't teach an old dog new tricks but the speed of transformations in social attitudes we saw was phenomenal. It fast became a social movement. A small religious, socially conservative country had adapted to modern times. This wasn't solely a victory for the young and free spirited, older generations spoke up and were heard. I didn't expect it to be overall that magical or that inspiring, but it was. I went through a self-discovery, and as dramatic as it sounds experienced a lot of soul-searching. The breath and scale of the Yes vote will hopefully continue to stand to me and many others. 

( Photo via Thejournal.ie )
In the end I learned this referendum was important because it helped create acceptance and normalise the LGBT community within society. It reignited momentum, it had a context and became a subject worth talking about and no longer something to just shut down. It showcased how dark the clouds over homophobia are. It helped develop empathy and understanding. The funny thing is in years to come we'll probably appreciate the true extent of what we went through more. The whole experience was very humbling and exhilarating. We reached a step closer to the day when homophobia becomes synonymous with ignorance.

In life you go through many journeys, this for me was one of them. I've learned the road will not always be smooth, in fact throughout our travels we will encounter many challenges and obstacles. But right now after the last few months especially I've realised it's important to just enjoy the ride. 

( Photo via Metro.co.uk )

Make Grá the Law

It's half six in the morning and I cannot sleep. In half an hour's time the polling stations will open and Ireland will have the opportunity to vote for equality, in the marriage referendum. I genuinely wasn't planning on addressing anything online concerning this debate. I will explain why again, but today, right now I feel helpless and my urge to write has never been stronger. 

This post is not going to bombard you with constitutional acts or in-depth legislation reports. I'm not going to rhyme off a collection of statistics, polls or surveys in the hope of making you realise the seriousness of this topic. I will not mention or retaliate against anything the No campaign have brought forward or said, despite how much it might have denigrated, offended and upset me or others. 

This is just one person speaking to another. Because I feel that's almost being lost in the sea of abstract arguments and television debates that have overwhelmed us the last few weeks. My personal testimony isn't intended as a desperate, final attempt pity party, the last thing I want is your sympathy. I'm writing this to give people a small insight into what it's like to be an LGBTQ person in Ireland without equal rights and why as a result this referendum is so important.

 ( Photo via Yesequality.ie )
I was born in the maternity unit of Ealing General Hospital, West London on 7 January 1993. I was born with a fraternal older twin sister who arrived thirty-five minutes before me. I was born with bright blue eyes. I was born with two loving, eager but petrified first time parents. I was born with a streak of blonde hair. And I believe I was born gay.

From the offset society's expectations for me were very different, when you see a newborn baby boy lying in a bassinet in the maternity ward you don't ask the parents at what age do you think he'll come out or what do you think his first boyfriend will be like? From a young age I always knew deep down that I was different. When I was seven I wanted to play Barbies with my sisters and by eleven we had already started creating our own synchronised S Club 7 dance moves to showcase at parties. Back then I obviously had no idea over the impact my sexuality would have over my life. 

Coming into my early teen years I started questioning myself, at first assuming that everybody had these thoughts and it wasn't something to be spoken about, that it would eventually go away. But of course, it didn't. The shame, the fear, the panic soon began to consume me and dictate my life. Secrecy, insecurity, loneliness became my own self-inflicted punishment for thinking all these wrong, abnormal thoughts. I became obsessed with lying to myself. Tormented with self-hatred and conditioning myself into thinking that I was straight. Self-censoring, repressing fundamental aspects of my personality and who I was. Refusing to let those around me get to know me. It was a weight that eventually took its toll. I was sick of constantly battling with myself. I struggled for years against being gay, I didn't want to be different, I didn't want to be the object of ridicule and scorn. I was terrified of what lied ahead.

The everyday sneers, disgust and discrimination is something the LGBTQ community can relate to and identify with. People who wouldn't even know you, having personal discomfort with who you are. Belittling your entire existence. Who chooses to live a life full of risks, consequences, uncertainty and danger? Not having the same privileges as others. Having strangers actively campaign against your rights as a human being. Consistently dealing with confused glances and murmured whispers from onlookers. Being a form of amusement for groups of rambling teenagers or late night drunks. Being a target of abuse

 ( Photo via Broadsheet.ie )
This is only a small part of my story, throughout the world there's many others growing up in similar circumstances. Feeling less than their peers, living in fear of rejection, not only from the public but from family members, friends and loved ones. People enduring sleepless nights, experiencing relentless hardships. Exhausted from holding back with every ounce of strength who they truly are, unwilling, unable to accept themselves. A life of second-guessing and hesitation is all they know. Some of these LGBTQ youths have absolutely no one to confide in their loneliness. It destroys lives. 

Today, I love who I am and I'm so proud to be gay. It's taken me twenty-one years to learn to overcome my demons and reach this stage of acceptance. Everyone in life has various dreams and ambitions, but we all share one true desire, the thought of falling in love. Everyone deserves that chance. These hopes and aspirations are no different. An equal Ireland will be the start of a legacy for all those little boys and girls who are currently teased, who are afraid, who can't express themselves freely yet and don't even realise that they are allowed go against the grain to embrace their true selves.  

With this referendum the future of so many young people is at stake. In a world infused with homophobia today is a beacon of hope for so many. Please not only make the right choice but let people finally live their lives openly, fearlessly and proudly. A Yes vote carries a message to love and be supportive of all, regardless of the circumstances. I know we each have that power inside of us, but sometimes we all just need that extra push. 

 (Photo via Irishexaminer.ie )
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